


I'm not fine?

by 2Lazy2Bother2Login



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, I am having a bad week, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Jake is Smol, John is a Good Friend, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-04-28 20:28:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5104676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2Lazy2Bother2Login/pseuds/2Lazy2Bother2Login
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When John spots something familiar on Jake's arms, Jake realizes he is not okay after all.<br/>THIS FIC HAS TRIGGERING EVENTS AND IMAGERY. PLEASE BE CAUTIOUS.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm not fine?

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS AN AU. In this, John IS a past self-harmer and had the other kids to help him get out of it. Jake is also smol because I enjoy smol Jake with a tol John to help him. I OWN NOTHING EXCEPT SOME OF THE PLOT *shakes fist into air* I literally an the worst and this is exceptionally terrible.

“I-It’s nothing to worry about—I promise…” He stutters out, hoping his ecto-son/father will drop the incoming conversation about this new discovery. The conversation had been perfectly swell until John had noticed something that made any conversation quite uncomfortable.

 

“Nothing to worry about!” John’s voice climbs, a shrill undertone making its way into his voice. “This is a very big deal, Jake!” John’s grip on his arm tightens, but slacks when it gets almost bruising-tight. John takes his other hand to push Jake’s sleeves up, tracing some very old and other very new injuries and scars on Jake’s arm.

“This is something that needs to be talked about.” John whispers, tears welling up in his eyes. Jake cringed at the other’s response. It wasn’t a problem, really. It was just a way of coping—a way to let everything out. He wasn’t mutilating himself or anything; by golly, scratches don’t even bleed for long, and they definitely don’t last that long either. Jake didn’t really get what was so bad about it, he was fine. Worrying about something as small as that was poppycock.

“You can’t do this to yourself, Jake. It’s not healthy, and… And you shouldn’t feel like…it’s not-“A deep hollow noise came from John’s chest as he heaved forwards to tightly squeeze the shorted boy. Awkwardly patting the other’s back, he glances around the giant frog landing-pad to see if anyone had caught wind of the big ruckus going on. No one seemed to be paying any mind to the two.

Dirk and Roxy seemed to be deep in conversation off to one side with boat-loads of uncomfortable looks and hand gestures being flung about while their ecto-kids/parents copied accordingly. The trolls were milling bout torn between watching ARquius work on Jane’s evil-tiara or on the odd happenings over with the Strider-Lalonde clan. Jade, being asleep, lay peacefully to the side, a glance or two occasionally thrown her way.

 

Jake continues to wait as John clung to him, sniffing a bit. The wind player’s head rested perfectly on the other’s head as he smothered him with pointless affection. To be honest, Jake felt quite uncomfortable. He wasn’t opposed to a nice scuffle or quick hugs between pals, but this weird affection shown by Dirk, and now John, made him feel squirmy--trapped even.

John finally released him, only to start tugging him over to where the other humans were. Digging his heels into the ground, Jake began to protest.

“No, no, no. John. For the love of god, it’s not that big of—“John silenced him with a sharp look. Still resisting, John tossed the other over his shoulder and continued on. All attempts to squirm away and escape were thwarted as they made it to the others. Jake was carefully set on the ground, almost as if he was a porcelain figuring or the delicate leading-lady in a movie.

 

With tears finally leaking out of his eyes, John shuttered slightly and shuffled behind Jake, clinging to him like an octopus. The four Strider-Lalondes snapped out of their conversation, wondering what was going on. John’s two friend, (Rose and Dave, Jake’s mind supplied), zipped to the pair. With hushed whispers, they began trying to sooth John, quietly asking what was wrong and petting his hair reassuringly.

 

“He did the bad thing!” John grit out, clutching Jake tighter. By then, most of the attention was directed at the commotion they were making. Jake felt his face go pale and his hands start to shake at their judging stares. Why was this such a big deal? He was fine. Why was John going ballistic?

“The sad, bad thing or the bad, bad thing, John?” Rose calmly asked, running her hands through John’s hair. The Strider boy looked worried, his brows furrowing and a concerned frown growing wider by the second.

 

“The sad!” John supplied, quietly. His voice seemed so full of some indescribable emotion that made Jake’s entire body feel hollow inside. Seeing the glance the two blondes threw each other, Jake began to slink down into himself. Everyone was looking now. Dirk’s probing stare and Roxy’s concerned gaze pierced him deeply and the curious looks of the trolls made him want to heave his stomach out.

 

Jake caught a quick nod from Rose before he was being restrained even more, his shirt being slogged off. The only noise Jake could form was a panicked wheeze. It wasn’t important. Why were they acting weird? Why were they trying to see it, if John had been so distressed about it? What was even happening? Finally, he was bare except for his distressingly revealing god-tier briefs. Clinching his eyes shut, Jake could feel tears pricking in his eyes. 

Why were they doing this to him? He hated the feeling of vulnerability and weakness as eyes bore into his scarred, battered skin. A couple sharp gasps rang out and tears slipped down his cheeks. He felt his jaw lock as someone lightly traced a particularly visible scar from a crab monster that had snuck up on him and the surrounding scratches from when he arrived back to his home. It was a close call; that one was. He almost died from blood loss that day. He spent weeks tracing patterns into the skin around the wound with his grandma’s old knife, watching the blood rise to his skin reassured him that he was alive.

 

Another hand came to his cheek, cupping it and running a thumb over the tears dripping down his face. Jake thought he heard muffled sobbing. Why would anyone cry? They were stripping him down and revealing him to everyone, so why were they so upset? John finally loosened his grip. Spinning Jake around, the shorter was surprised to see the usually bubbly guy looking quite forlorn.

 

“Why did you do it Jake?” He asked, greatly concerned.

 

“I told you it was nothing. It’s fine, it’s perfectly normal and I don’t know why you all are making a huge fuss about my scars. Seriously, why are you doing this? It’s like you’ve all bought a one way ticket for the next train to kooky-land!” Jake’s face scrunched up, feeling quite mad and upset. Everything seemed to freeze, and he was confused by their silence.

 

“Jake,” Dirk probed from somewhere close behind him, an unusually tight tone to his voice. “It’s not fine. This isn’t normal, Jake. Where did you pick this up from?” Pick it up from? What did he mean by that? Why was he saying it wasn’t normal? What was he trying to tell him?

 

“I don’t really—“Jake numbly said, his confusion growing.

 

“It’s hereditary.” John said, still holding Jake were the two was face to, well honestly, face to chest. “I did it to him. I was me. Oh god, guys I did it to him.” His tanned skin was pale and Jake could feel his hands were hot and sticky.

 

“John,” Rose carefully said, moving forwards slowly. “A condition such as this is not hereditary. This is not your fault, nor is it his.”

 

Easing his grip on Jake, John seemed to slag to the side a bit, to where Jake was holding him instead. Rose handed Jake his shirt back and took some of John’s weight off of him. Quickly tugging the shirt over his head, Jake felt more secure that before, but also more confused. Did they not think the scratches were normal? Yeah, some of them were deeper than scratches, but he wasn’t endangering himself, really.

“Jacob,” The seer’s voice seemed like velvet, calm and smooth. “Could you please explain what you mean by ‘normal’? Is this a common occurrence?” He brows were furrowed as if she was carful dissecting a bomb.

“Golly, are you all mad?” Jake groaned. “I must have missed a memo, but I’ve been doing this since, hum, since sometime after Gram died perhaps.” His voice was a faint whisper, too startled by all of this to be any louder.

“Please Jake, let us help you. You don’t think you have a problem, but if you have an addiction like this...” Roxy flinched, perhaps recalling her recently kicked alcoholism. Thinking back, Jake began seeing a pattern. He never saw Gram slit lines in herself when she had those depressive spells, at least to his remembrance. Jane always baked to feel better or in control. Dirk had building robots and his grand schemes to distract him. 

And then his mind turned to Roxy, and the knowing in her voice, and the pain when she realized she missed a detail that would be relevant to another addict…. Jake’s face fell in realization. He was addicted. From the pain of something sharp dragging across his skin, to the beautifully red life water that would drip down his body.  
How could he have missed it? Never in his movies did anyone slice their skin except to complete some ritual or to save the day.  
Never had he seen Jane or Dirk or Gram hurt themselves. How did he learn his odd addiction?

HE looked down to his torso. Lines and rows and columns of white, pink, and red scars littered the surface. Thin and wide cuts alike spread across the naturally tan surface, unprejudiced to how long they were or to location. Thin white lines crisscrossing his arms, the same that gave him away, seemed to look brighter under new scrutiny. Looking at himself, Jake wondered how each scratch, each gash, each scar had happened.

Lifting his eyes, Jake could see something familiar in John’s eyes. He said it was hereditary.  
Looking down on John’s arms, faint white lines littered the surface, almost undetectable there.  
A thought passed through him. This was his biological son.  
This was his dad.  
And he understood.  
John saw Jake as Jake was seeing John now.  
As someone important.  
As someone who shouldn’t be addicted to something so painful, but so good all at the same time. 

And he realized it wasn’t normal. 

He was not fine.

And as the last humans alive gathered around him, hugging him close with promises of hope and help, Jake English’s dam of naïve misconception broke.

 

And he understood he wasn’t alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Listen, self harm is serious and it very much an issue whether you see it as one or not. Please find help now if or while you can. You are important and need to treat your body and mind like they deserve to be treated--kindly and with love. Be safe out there, kiddos.


End file.
